


A Fine Ness

by Lurlur



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Crack Treated Seriously, Fluffy Ending, Folklore, Gen, Loch Ness Monster, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27309574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Aziraphale is angry that Crowley has been mucking about in Scotland, Crowley doesn't understand why.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 74
Collections: Legendary Ineffables





	A Fine Ness

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [LegendaryIneffables](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/LegendaryIneffables) collection. 



_ St James’s Park, London, 1934 _

Aziraphale, with a face like thunder, approached the bench where Crowley sat at about double his usual walking speed. Crowley barely had time to look up and see the newspaper clutched in his fist before it was slapped down on the damp wood beside him.

“Explain yourself!” Aziraphale said, gesturing to the paper in a fit of pique.

Casting a quick glance at the front page, Crowley felt a deep sinking feeling in his stomach. This wasn’t a sensation that he had any reason to know, except that his physical body rather expected a method of letting him know that he had messed up. He had become quite accustomed to the response by now, although it never became any less unpleasant.

Quickly, Crowley ran through a mental list of his options. He squashed down the impulse to turn into a snake and slither away; Aziraphale was already cross and there was no need to make things any worse.

“Good afternoon, Aziraphale,” he said, settling for pleasantries and feigned ignorance as a defence. “What’s got you all worked up?”

Aziraphale stooped to pick up the newspaper and held the front page level with Crowley’s face, tapping the grainy photograph with the back of his other hand.

“Loch Ness Monster Captured on Film!” quoted Aziraphale, “Don’t pretend that isn’t you in that picture, you utter fiend.”

This put Crowley in a bit of a bind. He, as a rule, did not lie to Aziraphale. He allowed Aziraphale to lie to himself, he omitted certain facts from various anecdotes, and he had become rather adept at making non-committal noises in response to questions he’d rather not answer, but he did not lie. This direct approach of Aziraphale’s was trickier to slither around. He bought some time by taking the newspaper and making a show of inspecting the photograph, sliding his sunglasses down his nose to get a better look.

“Looks like a log to me,” he said, pushing his glasses up and handing back the paper, “why the fuss?”

Aziraphale huffed and dropped onto the bench beside Crowley.

“You’re trying to dodge the point, I really must insist that you tell me the whole truth of the matter.”

This reaction was about as far from what Crowley had pictured when he’d first come up with the idea. Things did seem to have a way of biting him right on his own tail.

“Look, it was just a joke, alright?”

Aziraphale scoffed.

“Excuse me for not seeing the punchline, Crowley! What were you thinking?”

_ I thought it might make you laugh, like it did in Greece. _ He didn’t say that.  _ I remembered the way you complimented me in Syria.  _ That felt too much like baring his heart.  _ You always seemed so delighted when I did this in antiquity, I don’t understand what’s changed. _

“Weeeell, you know,” Crowley said lamely, spreading his hands, “thought it’d be funny. Weather was nice and I didn’t have anything on for the rest of the month. Seemed harmless enough. The rumours and legends were already there so the loch was an easy choice.”

Aziraphale’s jaw clenched so visibly that Crowley wondered if he might shatter his teeth. He hadn’t seen Aziraphale looking this angry in centuries, and never before had this sort of rage been directed so squarely at him. What was worse than being the subject of Aziraphale’s angelic wrath was the complete helplessness that Crowley felt. He had no idea  _ what _ exactly had got Aziraphale so upset and so he couldn’t fix it.

“I can’t believe you, I really can’t,” Aziraphale said, “we saw each other four days ago and you didn’t even mention it.”

At some point, Crowley’s shoulders had hunched up towards his ears and he shrank in his seat. He had never been a student being scolded by a teacher, but he imagined that this might be how it felt.

“I don’t understand,” he said, leaning away from Aziraphale.

“No, that’s becoming  _ abundantly _ clear.” Aziraphale sniffed and stuck his nose in the air.

From that, Crowley could at least deduce that Aziraphale was expecting an apology. Unfortunately, he also knew that unless he could apologise for the exact thing that had upset Aziraphale, he’d still be on the outs for months, if not longer.

“Look,” he said, throwing his last shreds of caution to the wind, “I was bored and it was always fun before, you always said it was funny, and I thought, or maybe I didn’t think- I just thought it would be funny to splash around in the loch for a few days and see if anyone had a camera. Lots of tourists up that way, y’know, I figured that someone would have one sooner or later.” He was babbling but Aziraphale did appear to be softening somewhat. “I stayed away from the shore, made sure that no one could get a clear picture, only came out around dawn and dusk. It was just a laugh. I’m sorry, I honestly don’t know why you’re upset about it. You’ve got to help me out here, angel.”

To his confusion and dismay, Aziraphale laughed. Just once, a barking sound that was immediately followed by the soft clap of a gloved hand over Aziraphale’s mouth, capturing any further outbursts.

“You think I’m upset about the photograph?” he asked after a moment regaining his composure, “Or the swanning about as a giant sea serpent to try and cause a fuss amongst a few locals and tourists?”

Crowley shrugged, feeling more lost than ever.

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, not at all. You know how I enjoy your hijinks, and there’s no real evil in it, is there?”

Crowley had conceded that point a long time ago despite his insistence that encouraging belief in imaginary beasts was some kind of blasphemy. Aziraphale had rather trumped that argument by pointing out that Crowley wasn’t setting himself up as a deity for worship.

“So what is it?” Crowley asked, turning slightly to face Aziraphale whilst keeping his distance.

“I really can’t believe that you don’t know, our long-standing arrangement regarding Scotland has never slipped your mind before.” Aziraphale sounded snippy but his face no longer held any of the earlier tension.

Perhaps, Crowley mused, he had realised that the situation didn’t really call for that level of amateur dramatics. Just like that, the realisation hit him. He knew exactly what Aziraphale was upset about.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Crowley asked, reaching into the deep pocket of his coat, “You really had me worried, but this was all about you getting your sugar fix, wasn’t it?” Crowley drew out a box from his pocket, a little larger than his hand, and held it out to Aziraphale. “As if I would forget to get you a present.”

“Oh,  _ Crowley! _ ” Aziraphale breathed, his sulk completely abandoned, “You brought me some tablet after all!”

The box was opened in a flash and Aziraphale wiggled his fingers above the blocks of brown tablet, making a show of picking the first piece. The fluttering of his eyelashes and the indecent moan that escaped him as his lips closed around the crumbly cube was somehow all the sweeter for the unrest that had been between them. Unable to help himself, Crowley leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands to better absorb Aziraphale’s pleasure.

Maybe he’d get Aziraphale a little worked up before any future gifts as well, Crowley mused for a moment before dismissing that idea outright. He didn’t like the idea of Aziraphale being truly upset with him again.

“Thank you, Crowley, it’s simply delicious.” Aziraphale offered the box to him but Crowley waved it away.

“Too sweet for me, no need to share,” he said, earning a happy wriggle from Aziraphale, “And just you wait, the whole ‘Loch Ness Monster’ thing will burn out in a few weeks. Six months at most.”

* * *

_ A cottage somewhere on the South Downs, 2034 _

“Six months at most,” Aziraphale said in a mocking voice that sounded  _ nothing _ like Crowley.

“Alright, alright, no need to rub it in. We’re already watching the bloody documentary about the centenary.”

Aziraphale laughed and Crowley found that he couldn’t quite muster up the energy to be annoyed.

“Oh, I got you something!” Aziraphale said and began rummaging around in a bag he’d stuffed under the coffee table. “Here!”

He pulled out a cheap tam o’ shanter with attached gingery “hair” and presented it with an obscene amount of pomp. White embroidery across the front read “I’ve seen the Loch Ness monster!” in a way that managed to both clash with and disappear into the tartan of the hat.

“Lovely,” Crowley said, deadpan.

“Oh, but it’s not quite right,” Aziraphale said and rubbed his fingers over the ‘s’ of ‘seen’ until it became a ‘b’, “Much better, don’t you think?”

Despite himself, Crowley had to laugh at Aziraphale’s joke and even let him place the awful hat over Crowley’s hair.

“No one else can wear one like this,” Crowley said, feeling just a touch pleased with himself.

He’d let Aziraphale have the big box of whisky tablet in a little while. He was already looking forward to the wiggles and little moans.


End file.
